


Stroke of Genius

by orphan_account



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Rick's gratuitously big peen, Voyeurism, botched Spanish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 08:11:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6321763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jerry gets thirsty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stroke of Genius

Jerry wakes up thirsty and disoriented, the last vestiges of his nightmare crumbling in the wake of reality.  He instinctively reaches for Beth but the sheets beside him are cold; the blankets are tucked under into neat hospital corners on her side.  She must have left for work shortly after he’d fallen asleep.  The clock on his nightstand reads 3 am– too early for morning, too late for night.  

The kids are sound asleep when he checks on them on his way to the kitchen for water. It’s silent in the house, with only the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs to keep him company.  The living room is awash in blue light from the television, which is playing some muted infomercial.  He sees the hunch of too-skinny shoulders, the wiry frizz of static-shocked hair over the back of the couch, and he tenses on the stairs.  He’s not the only one up then.  Luckily, Rick doesn’t seem to have heard him, thank god for small favors.  He can just make out the twin white headphone cords trailing down Rick’s neck and disappearing out of sight.  Jerry’s been avoiding him ever since he hid the man’s portal gun in a passive aggressive attempt to keep Morty from flunking out of school.  He knows that Rick knows its him, but he’s been pleading ignorance for almost a week now.  He knows it’s only a matter of time before the situation escalates, especially since the scientist’s been on edge the whole week, but Jerry is trying his damnedest to steer clear.

Maybe he should go back upstairs.  But even as he’s thinking it, his throat is screaming at him for water.  No, it’s his house.  He can do what he wants in it.  Despite the bravado, he finds himself sneaking passed the couch, cringing at each creak of a floor board underneath his bare feet.  He makes it into the kitchen without being noticed, as far as he can tell.  He’d been too scared to look at Rick to tell.  He grabs a glass and run the tap at a bare trickle, looking over his shoulder the entire time.  He’s able to quench his thirst without incident, much to his relief.  He begins his treacherous trek back to his bedroom, cursing himself the entire way across the kitchen and into the living room entrance.  He’s contemplating the best way up the stairs when he’s lured by a blur of movement from his peripheral.  He looks.

Rick has his pants shoved down to his knees and his shirt rucked up under his chin as he masturbates to something on his phone.  Normally, this would be the part where Jerry flees up the stairs and spends the rest of the night mentally preparing what he’s going to say to Beth, only to fall speechless at her tired, impassioned return from work.  But this isn’t a night for normal, clearly; he’s glued to where he’s standing, staring at the biggest penis he’s ever seen in his life.  At first, Jerry’s repulsed.  The old man is everything he despises in this world: selfish, unpredictable, chaotic neutral.  It rankles that he also has _that_ between his legs.  It’s easily twice the thickness of his own, not that he’s particularly gifted in that respect.  It’s long and uncut, easily reaching Rick’s belly button– which is impressive in itself thanks to his long torso.  

Jerry’s stuck, staring at Rick with a queasy feeling bubbling in his gut.  He watches Rick slick his hand up and down, carelessly pumping himself to his video.  The man has extraordinarily long fingers– Jerry would’ve called them piano fingers—that barely wrap around his width.  The man’s hips move in time with his strokes as he jerks himself.  Each downward stroke pulls his foreskin back, revealing a plush, purple head damp with pre.  Rick slicks his thumb against its wet slit, dragging downward and pressing just under the bottom ridge of his swollen glans.    Rick’s eyes flutter shut and his head falls back onto the couch as he swirls his thumb over and around his tip, teasing himself.  He moves from tip to root and back again, working up a punishing rhythm as he does it.  His face is mottled red, the color splotching down his neck and disappearing underneath the bunched fabric before spreading like a rash across his concave chest. Against the blue-washed backdrop, he looks angry.  His teeth are bared and each breath punches out of him like a growl.

Jerry’s skin feels too tight.  He can hear his breathing synchronizing with Rick, his own voice a weird, high-pitched sob against Rick’s rasping inhales. Jerry’s gaze snaps to Rick’s hand as it picks up speed.  The scientist is straining into his grip now, fucking upward, each stroke slick and desperate.  Jerry’s never seen him lose control like this. The tendons in Rick’s neck bulge and strain under his skin as his movements get jerkier; less calculated and more mindless.  His cock looks huge, raw and angry against his hand.  He must be close.  He looks close.  Jerry knows he should leave before Rick finishes but he’s trapped there by his own morbid curiosity.  It’s a compulsion now.  He needs to see this to its natural conclusion.  He needs to see Rick spend all over himself almost as much as he needs to breathe.  There’s something intimate about seeing another person reach their climax; and that selfish part inside of himself craves that intimacy in whatever way he can get it– especially when it comes from person who prides himself on being above it all.

“ _Que te jodan, Jerry_. _Que Rico_ ,” Rick moans under his breath.  “ _Me vuelves loco_. _Te gusta mi verga?_ _”_

Anxiety prickles up Jerry’ spine and there’s a quiet desperation clawing its way up from his gut into his chest as Rick beats his cock raw.  Jerry’s mouth is dry.  It looks painful.  It looks… amazing.  He fists his hands into his pajama bottoms, so fucking hungry for what he knows is about to happen.  And sure enough, Rick chokes out a guttural, bitten-off moan before he’s spilling all over his hand, his torso, his shirt. There’s so much of it.   Jerry’s never seen so much before it.  It’s a thick, white mess all over Rick with a little making its way onto the upholstery.  The air is pungent; musky with the stench of semen. It smells like sex.  Like Rick’s sex.

At this thought, Jerry finally finds himself able to move.  He peels himself away from the doorway and lunges for the stairs, fleeing up them without a backward glance.  It’s only when he’s in his room, door locked, lamp clicked off that he’s tearing at his pajama bottoms with shaky desperation.  He rips them down his legs, kicking them to the side before fisting himself with a relieved sigh.  There’s an instant where he questions his own sanity but he easily succumbs to the unbearable heat building between his legs.  He gasps, needy for his touch as he strokes himself once, twice, before his balls are tightening.  All it takes is a rough twist around his cock head, and he’s coming harder than he’s ever come in his life; the reek of alcohol and sex burned into his sinuses.

He falls back onto his rumpled sheets and presses his hot cheek against the coolness of his pillow.   It only takes a moment before he’s sinking into a dreamless sleep, unaware of the shadow silhouetted in his bedroom door.

**Author's Note:**

> Best while listening to "He's My Best Friend" by Jellyfish


End file.
